


A Husband For Church Days

by shebephoebe



Series: Ben&Bea [5]
Category: Much Ado About Nothing (David T/Catherine T), Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare
Genre: #killClaudio, F/M, I wouldn't say Claudio and Hero exactly have a loving marriage, Loving Marriage, and....well, as well as unruly children and their stupid father Claudio, ft. adorable small children and their loving father, post-cannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:07:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29001969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shebephoebe/pseuds/shebephoebe
Summary: Beatrice and Benedick host a dinner party following mass.Based on the stage production of Much Ado About Nothing with David Tennant and Catherine Tate. If you haven't watched it, do so; I do not do it justice in the least. Characterizations are based on character interpretations from that production (including the new character, Beatrice's aunt Imogen). Shout out to my writing buddy Ruby for helping further develop the characters and storyline. We have Lore.Story is set following the events of the play.
Relationships: Beatrice/Benedick (Much Ado About Nothing), Claudio/Hero (Much Ado About Nothing)
Series: Ben&Bea [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2098035
Kudos: 9





	A Husband For Church Days

“I can’t understand it,” Hero said, not for the first time that day. “Ten years with me and I could barely get Beatrice to church.” She dandled the toddler on her lap and shook her head at Benedick across the table. “Three years with you and she was going every Sunday, and now she’s even veiling.”  
“Oh, please,” Beatrice huffed as she darted around the table with a pitcher of lemonade, serving the half-dozen guests who’d appeared throughout the week, all seeking sea air and someone else’s cooking. She’d been on her feet since they’d returned from mass. She hadn’t even removed the aforementioned veil yet.  
Don Pedro leaned back to look at her down the table. “Beatrice, let someone help you with that.”  
Hero had already offered her assistance, but Beatrice would rather her cousin kept that toddler under control.  
“Nonsense,” Beatrice said. “I’m almost done, and you’re my guests.”  
Hero pursed her lips. Perhaps she knew why Beatrice had refused her help, for she stood, swinging her younger daughter up with her, and passed her off to Benedick. He set to pulling ridiculous faces the moment he had little Cassandra in his arms. Claudio, who had been seated next to his wife, frowned.  
Beatrice leaned back and swiped a hand across her forehead, brushing at stray hairs. “The salad still needs to be tossed,” she said without hesitation, and followed her cousin into the kitchen.  
Behind them she heard Don Pedro and one of the other men start to laugh again about her son Alex’s...display in church. “--taught him that, I wonder?”  
Benedick made a noise of protest and said something Beatrice couldn’t catch.  
“Alright, so the salad and what else?” Hero asked.  
Beatrice collapsed onto one of the stools at the island and pressed a hand to her side. She hated being pregnant. Everything else was fine but the pregnancy itself she could do without.  
Benedick disagreed with her, as if his opinion mattered in this particular instance. He still got worked up sometimes over the fact that she’d not told him about her first pregnancy for seven months. “I should have been here with you,” he said, to which she always replied that she likely would have killed him. He had more of a nesting instinct than she did.  
Outside, Alex shrieked in delight at something Meg was doing. Hero’s older daughter Viola said something in her lofty tone, the way all five-year-olds are prone to address their youngers, and Beatrice heard Alex snap back at her.  
“I need to check on Tricia,” she said absently. “She’s been napping a while.”  
“Have one of the men do it. Goodness knows you won’t let them do anything else.” Hero had finished the salad and moved on to the bread.  
Beatrice worked at the pins holding her veil in place, then dumped the whole affair into a puddle on the countertop. “The roast should be done any minute.” With a groan she got to her feet and went to check. “Is your room alright?”  
“I don’t enjoy Viola kicking me all hours of the night, but yes.”  
“I’m sorry. You could have had our room—”  
“Nonsense! I am not going to kick you out of your room. If I wanted more space I could have got a hotel, but I like staying with you. And it means I don’t have to wait up for Claudio when he invariably stays out late drinking with his Navy friends.”  
There was that. The men only had to step outside and do their drinking and reminiscing on the balcony or in the yard. Something about being within sight of the sea turned them all poetic, even the ones who were fresh off the water.  
Beatrice pulled the roast out of the oven, with Hero hurrying over to help her heft it onto the counter.   
“I’ve told you to stop lifting things!”  
“I’m fine! You all worry too much. The only thing I’m at risk of is sore feet and sleeping in.”  
Hero gave her a look but didn’t press the issue. Instead she inhaled the fragrant steam wafting off the roast. “Beatrice, what did you put in this?”  
“You’ll have to ask Benedick. He’s the chef around here. I just do his bidding.”  
As if on cue, Benedick appeared in the door, Cassandra on his shoulders. “Don’t you go adding any salt, wife,” he warned her.  
Beatrice put a hand on her hip. “The very idea! How dare you! As if anyone could complain that anything you make has too much salt, when they know you and your temperament well enough.” She looked from the roasting pan to her husband. “In fact, you can take care of this, and show it off to your friends. I need to check on Tricia.”  
Alex’s piping voice carried in through the window, his favorite shanty all too clear. Hero bent over the bread to hide a grin.  
Beatrice scowled at her husband. “I told you not to teach him that song.”  
“Can I help it if our son has good taste?”  
“Ask Father Horatio.”  
Hero couldn’t hide her snorting laugh this time. Beatrice left to check on Tricia, but Don Pedro caught her in the dining room.  
“I know,” he started, waving around his glass of boxed wine, “I know you said I would never suit for a husband because I am too fine for working days.” He flashed that rakish grin that sent countless hordes of women lamenting his status as a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor. “But would you consider taking me for a weekend husband?”  
Beatrice was laughing before he even finished. “Do you suppose I need a weekend husband, sir?”  
Benedick appeared in the kitchen doorway, one eyebrow cocked clear to his hairline. “What’s this?” he cried.  
Cassandra caught his horror and squealed, tugging at his hair.  
“Well, Ben,” Pedro drawled, “you’re fine enough for weekdays, but Beatrice deserves something prettier for church.”  
“If she wants pretty she should look to Claudio, not you,” Benedick protested.  
Pedro stuck out his lower lip. “Ah, but would Claudio do any better a job of preventing a stirring round of sea shanties in the middle of mass?” When Benedick spluttered, he pressed. “"Where's your wit today, Ben? I see it's not at your side."  
“I need no wits when I have fists.” Benedick stomped across to the table, swinging Cassandra over his head. “Claudio, hold your daughter.”  
Beatrice interposed herself between her husband and the prince. Claudio made no move to collect his toddler; Hero appeared to take her before Benedick set her loose on the floor.  
“Sometimes I’m heartily sorry I decided to remain friends with you lot,” Benedick continued.  
“Now, husband.” Beatrice put a hand on Benedick’s chest and calculated how much cheap beer he would have been able to consume that afternoon. He wasn’t given to being a raging drunk, but he didn’t quite look like he was playing along with the prince’s joke. “I’m meant to be the dragon here, not you.”   
Beatrice waited until Benedick turned his eyes from Don Pedro, still sipping his wine, to her. There, she could see a bit of a spark in their depths, the scoundrel.  
“And the prince, while charming in his own right, is not at all to my tastes. He’s rather too….” She searched for a word with the correct weight to settle this argument. “Too ostentatious for me.” She kissed him long enough that he melted a little against her, while the men at the table hooted.  
“And how dare you suggest Claudio as a substitute?” she murmured.  
Appeased, Benedick put a hand to her waist and led her in a slow dance across the room. “You have to admit he’s rather pretty.”  
Patricia started crying just then, her infant squall carrying clearly from the nursery. Beatrice patted her husband’s stubbly cheek and extricated herself from his arms. “You have a roast to serve and I have a baby to tend to. Neither of us is pretty enough for church.”  
“On the contrary! God loves a hard worker.”  
“And the rest of us,” one of the men put in, “love a good meal after our labors.”  
“What labors?” Beatrice threw over her shoulder. She let them argue about it behind her.


End file.
